


Sunrise from deep beneath the mountain

by half_of_a_halfling



Series: Pillow Talk [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Blood, Dwarf/Elf Relationship(s), M/M, Post BotFA, Shock, Tags and warnings and rating will be updated with each chapter really, Thorinduil - Freeform, descriptions of injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 16:44:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5424440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/half_of_a_halfling/pseuds/half_of_a_halfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil does his best to help Thorin. Thorin is reluctant to accept his company.</p><p>A prequel to Lines.</p><p>You don't need to have read the other stories in this series. That's the beauty of a prequel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunrise from deep beneath the mountain

Those at the encampment were torn between clearing a wide path, and rushing to the Elvenking’s aide. Fires still burned on the hilltops, and small groups of Orcs were still being beaten into retreat, but for the most part, with their leader dead, their war had been lost.

 

Durin’s folk had won back their homeland.

 

But at what cost to themselves? Countless bodies were scattered over the ground before the mountain. Elves, Men and Dwarves, all who’d died in the same ways and had all died together. What very little remained of Laketown was unsalvageable and its people were displaced with little direction or leadership, save for Bard, elected to command in the interim. Few could have predicted at this time, that the Bowman would still be their benevolent ruler until his final days of life and that his family would continue to lead his people long after that.

 

Thranduil had made his way down from the clifftops on the winding route between the rocks, clutching his burden close against him, arms wrapped tight around the bulk of the Dwarven body. For the most part, his path had been protected fore and aft by two Dwarves, though somewhere along the way, the one shielding his front had fallen back and he knew not what fate had befallen him.

 

There would be little to be done for him in any case. The Elvenking could not carry a second armoured form back to the camp.

 

In time the Orcs fighting them had fallen away, no doubt preoccupied with aiding their own fallen leader in favour of continuing their battle. But there was nothing to save there. Azog’s body had fallen through the ice and the current beneath the frost had taken him quickly from the opening, until the ice was too thick to break from beneath and the cold water overcame him. It was not known to him, before his death, whether he had bested his Dwarven foe, nor was it ever known to all else whither the cold waters had taken him.

 

One hand pressed tight, as best he could, against Thorin’s breast, Thranduil could feel the thick seep of blood beneath his palm. A flow that would not cease, which stuck like grease between his fingers and stained his sleeve beneath the armour at his wrist.

 

As he approached the camp distrustful eyes had set upon him, unsure of exactly what he carried and of his intentions now the battle appeared to have been won. He was almost at the cluster of tent, serving as the Dwarven infirmary and none had come to his help. It was only the brief sight of Thorin Oakenshield’s face and the sound of his choked breaths, both obscured by the tall Elvenking’s shoulder that gave his Dwarven comrades cause to hurry to his assistance.

 

With shouts to one another, healers and warriors surged forward, tugging Thorin from the Elvenking’s arms, his hand slipping from where it pressed to the Dwarf’s chest and a jet of crimson blood spurted forth from his wound at the loss of pressure, catching Thranduil across the face and neck. He froze to the spot, twitching his head back as though finally waking from some walking slumber and his trembling hand moved to touch at the spray of blood across his cheek, as he watched Thorin dragged into one of the tents, out of sight. Loud voices called to one another, but in a tongue he could not understand and a tone he could not comprehend.

 

He felt something at his left hand and blinked before looking down to see a Dwarf at his side pushing a cloth to his hand. Lips parted and brow furrowed, Thranduil gave a questioning look to the other, who gestured to his face and the splatter of red that was beginning to dry.

 

The cloth came back stained from his cheek and fingers and Thranduil studied it, almost confused before his breath came back to him in a quick burst. The still unsteady hand moved quickly to his mouth as he forgot the coppery taste that would greet it and he started towards the tent in which Thorin had been hauled to by his kin.

 

But his way was blocked and his efforts to reach Thorin again were thwarted and he was so very tired from battle. He slumped beside the canvas, and tipped his head back and rested, trying to ignore the dying king’s screams, feet away, in a world he had no part of.

 

A constant stream of people passed him and moved within the tent, healers and friends, the Bowman, the tall wizard, Mithrandir with the Halfling by his side, but all went unseen by Thranduil’s closed eyes. The light faded from the sky and the area grew quiet as a waning moon rose and torches were lit all around and Thorin was given privacy, save for a white bearded Dwarf stationed outside.

 

“Wake up. It’s cold.”

 

“I wasn’t sleeping.” Thranduil mumbled as he stirred, lifting his head from his arms, one hand instinctively moving to his thigh to his sword but he found no one around as he looked into the shadows. At least, no one awake, with the white haired guard, sat on a crate beside him with his eyes closed, leaned back against a post and no noise or movement to be found within the other tents.

 

A frost was setting in, the voice was correct. Thranduil rolled his shoulders back where the joints were stiff from the lack of movement and he rose to his feet, looking around once more to find the source of the voice, without success. He was alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a short first chapter just to get back into the swing of writing and posting after a break. The next chapter should be coming soon and be about three times the length. Should be.
> 
> I love your kudos, I love your comments, I love your feedback. 
> 
> half-of-a-halfling.tumblr.com


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